In Which Musichetta Almost Gets Kissed
by Unicadia
Summary: Musichetta tries to get Joly to kiss her - but something else happens instead. Cover artwork by my very talented sister.


Having just bought a beautiful gold engagement ring, Hyacinthe Joly felt very romantic and decided to take Musichette Tremblay and his best friend, Laigle, out to a little café.

"It's such a beautiful day," said Joly dreamily. "Do you think I should propose to her today?"

"It is a beautiful day." Laigle glanced out the window of their apartment. "Much better for a picnic."

"We go on a picnic almost every week. I'm tired of ants crawling up my trousers."

Laigle shrugged. "Very well, then. Let's go."

They walked to the Tremblay house, a rich building on Rue de Fleurs. Laigle rang the bell and Joly nervously straightened his cravat. The maid, upon seeing them, went to get Musichetta.

"I feel ill, Bossuet," said Joly.

"You're nervous. Are you going to ask her?"

"I don't know. I think I should wait. After the revolution. Quieter. Healthier."

"Bossuet! Hyacinthe!" Musichetta Tremblay rushed out to them. Already she wore the crimson bonnet Joly had bought her. They did go on a lot of outings. "Hyacinthe, you look paler than usual. Are you all right?"

Joly's face went from pasty white to bright red. "I'm fine. Really." He stood straighter, trying to appear noble. "I would be honored, Musichetta, if you would join Bossuet and I at the Café-"

"Oh, it's a much nicer day for a picnic," cried Musichetta. "Let's do that."

Laigle made a tremendous effort not to laugh, but Joly sank a little into the cobblestones. "Of course, Chetta. Whatever you want."

"I'll get Cook to fix us a basket, and then let's go to Luxembourg Park." Musichetta ran back inside before either man could speak.

"You could . . . put your coat down before you sit," Laigle ventured, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Joly glared at him.

They stood in silence a while. After about ten minutes, Laigle spoke again. "You are going to the meeting tonight, right?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you miss almost every other meeting. Enjolras is getting pretty angry about it."

"Enjolras doesn't get angry at me."

"You should have heard him last week. He just about called you a traitor to the cause."

Joly stared at Laigle in horror. "Why-"

"Cook made us cream and tomato sandwiches," said Musichetta, coming out again, this time bearing a basket. "Your favorite, Bossuet." She giggled. "There's also little sausages, fruit tarts, and a flask of strawberry liqueur."

Joly wanted to clear some things up with Laigle, but Musichetta slipped her arm through his, and he forgot everything he wished to say. Laigle took the basket, and they walked down to Luxembourg Park arm in arm, Musichetta in the middle.

They found a nice quiet spot on a shady hill. Joly reluctantly took off his coat and spread it over the grass before sitting, making room for Musichetta, of course. Laigle might have laid his coat out too, if he had remembered to bring it. Musichetta removed her hat and they began.

The cream and tomato sandwiches disappeared rather quickly, the majority by Laigle. Joly didn't want to eat any of the tarts, claiming they'd be perilous to his health, but on Musichetta's request, he finally ate a quarter of one. Laigle spilled half the strawberry liqueur, mostly on Joly, and had to go buy some regular wine.

But at last, they finished, and Musichetta, sighing contentedly, snuggled up to Joly. "I've never seen you without your coat, Hyacinthe. You don't feel so bulky."

"Uh . . . thanks."

Musichetta laid her head on Joly's shoulder and slipped an arm around his waist, making Laigle look away in embarrassment. "Hyacinthe . . . how do you feel about . . . kissing?"

Laigle stole a glance at them. Musichetta lay against Joly with a dreamy look on her face. Joly stared stupidly at the grass, his cheeks red. Although he planned on marrying Musichetta, he had never given this topic much thought.

"Well . . . uh . . . I've always thought that it's very unhealthy. You know, such a vulnerable, exposed part of the body being subject to-" He stopped; Musichetta leaned close to his face, dimpling adorably, her pale blue eyes pleading him, and her tiny, sweet lips looking very pink.

Joly blinked and swallowed. Laigle stared in fascination.

"Kiss me, Hyacinthe."

Joly's heart quickened and suddenly he didn't care if he died from kissing Musichetta (ok, maybe a little). He brought his hand onto her slender shoulder and drew her close to him –

A high-pitched shriek of laughter pierced the thick romantic atmosphere. Musichetta, her eyes closed, ignored it, but Joly and Laigle froze at the sound. The pounding of heavy running feet came up the side of the hill, and they stiffened, wondering if they should move.

Whatever they imagined it to be, the last thing they expected came bounding over the hill at top speed, carrying something on its back.

It was their friend, Andre Courfeyrac, grass stains covering his trousers. On his back he bore his girlfriend, Mireille. Both of them were shrieking with laughter. They galloped towards the other three, narrowly missing the picnic basket and Musichetta's hat. Then they disappeared over the other side of the hill, followed by a noise which sounded like Courfeyrac tripping and falling. Another shriek, though more of pain than of joy this time, and then a loud goan.

Laigle stared after them in open-mouthed shock. Joly hadn't moved since he first saw Courfeyrac, his lips still frozen over Musichetta's. As for Musichetta herself, she patiently awaited Joly's kiss, but after about a minute after the last anguished groan, she opened her eyes and glared at Joly.

"Hyacinthe."

His gaze drifted down to her. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know."

Laigle snapped out of his shock and cleared his throat. "You were going to kiss her."

"Oh." Joly hesitated. "May I still kiss you, Chetta?"

But he never got his answer because at that moment, Courfeyrac returned, running a before, but Mireille was nowhere to be seen. "Help!" he cried, breathing hard and laughing hysterically. He collapsed in front of them. "He's going to kill me!"

"Who?" asked Laigle. He was having a wonderful afternoon.

"Prouvaire!" Courfeyrac gasped before exploding into another laughing fit.

"Prouvaire doesn't kill people."

"But - but - I destroyed his daisy chains!"

"Why would you do that?"

"I fell – and Mireille tumbled off onto him and all his daisy chains got crushed. Oh, help!" Courfeyrac crawled up to Joly and clutched his arm. In a much different tone he whispered, "Mm, you smell nice, Joly. Like strawberry liqueur."

Joly shook Courfeyrac off. They all sat still, awaiting Jean Prouvaire's vengeance, but nothing happened. At length, Joly, Laigle, and Musichetta went to investigate. Courfeyrac hung back at first, making unintelligible excuses between giggles, but then he joined them.

Peering over the side of the hill, they saw Prouvaire and Mireille sitting in the grass at the bottom, happily making daisy chains and flower crowns. Mireille looked up and waved to them. "Hello, Chetta! Want to make flower crowns with us?"

"Oh, yes!" Musichetta retrieved her hat and started down the hill. "Come on Bossuet and Hyacinthe!"

In a few minutes, all six of them sat at the bottom of the hill, cutting, splitting, and twisting flowers and grasses into chains. Joly kept sneezing due to the allergies he claimed he suffered from. Looking at Laigle, he whispered, "Next time, please let us go to a café."

 _Fin_


End file.
